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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040677">baby, i'm clutching at straws</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallizbian/pseuds/fallizbian'>fallizbian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dynasty (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/F, Flashbacks, Post-Break Up, hesitate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:42:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallizbian/pseuds/fallizbian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>this is such a loose interpretation of MY OWN prompt it's not even funny</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kirby Anders &amp; Fallon Carrington, Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hesitate</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>baby, i'm clutching at straws</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title comes from bear's den's "agape"</p>
<p>thank you sarah for beta-reading (even if you did withhold any and all commentary on it until it was posted)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Fallon’s barely got the key in the lock before Kirby is reaching past her to push the door open and they’re tumbling into the place. Kirby’s cherry blossom perfume overwhelms her as hands wrap around her waist and tangle in her hair. When she finally orients herself, she’s staring into brown eyes wide with excitement. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Fallon.” Kirby leans in for a kiss, giggling as she bumps her teeth against Fallon’s in her eagerness. “This is our home.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She laughs as Kirby backs her against the door, taking the key from her fingers and hanging it on the hooks beside them.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yes, that’s typically how it works when you move somewhere.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby shakes her head, and her red hair tickles against Fallon’s neck. She sucks in a sharp breath, reaching for Kirby. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “No, Fallon, you’re not listening to me,” she says, threading her fingers through Fallon’s and pulling her to the middle of the empty living room. “You can live somewhere and not be home. Moving back into Carrington Manor wasn’t home. But this, here, with you? This is home.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Are you calling me your home?” Fallon asks. Kirby shrugs, and Fallon leans her head on Kirby’s shoulder to look up at her. “You dork.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Your dork,” Kirby corrects, leaning down. Fallon wants to argue, but quite frankly she’s got much better things to be doing with her lips. </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Kirby hates her new loft. For one, she was stupid enough to let the millionaire keep all their furniture, and she really misses that pillow top mattress and the macrame chair that’s probably still hanging in her old living room. Fallon doesn’t even <em> like </em> macrame— glorified arts-and-crafts, Kirby remembers her calling it. She’s also not a fan of the way her post-break-up music bounces around the apartment, an echoing boom in a place that’s already too quiet without Fallon’s constant chatter about some business deal or other.</p>
<p>A bitter laugh escapes her lips, bouncing along the walls to the place where Sam’s pouring them another drink in the kitchen.</p>
<p>“What’s so funny, Kirb?” he asks, topping the glasses with a little slice of lime as though they’re not going to down them in the course of ten minutes.</p>
<p>“I was just thinking,” she starts, smacking her lips together as the alcohol courses through her veins, “about us.”</p>
<p>Sam is quiet, raising an eyebrow at her as he flops back onto her shitty mattress next to her. Kirby takes a deep breath before continuing.</p>
<p>“Like, how we both had these epic romances with the Carringtons.” Kirby winces at the way the name comes out of her mouth, acrid and flat. She gestures around the empty room, from the small table serving as her nightstand to the flickering light above the stove. “And now... Do you think that’s a coincidence or just what they do to people who love them?”</p>
<p>“Does that mean you regret it?” Sam asks, setting his drink down beside the bed and propping himself on one elbow to face her.</p>
<p>She’s not sure whether he’s asking about the relationship or the breakup, so in lieu of a response, she just tips back the rest of her drink and swings her legs over the side of the bed. The mattress squeaks as she stands. If Sam frowns and tries to say something more, Kirby ignores it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There’s a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the bedside table that may or may not have a shot of whiskey stirred in, and she was supposed to give back the sweatshirt wrapped around her body. The blankets tangled in her legs are too big for just one person. </p>
<p>Fallon’s phone sits on her lap, and when she flicks the screen, a picture of them flashes onto it. Kirby’s wearing the sweatshirt Fallon had pretended she’d lost, her arms wrapping around Fallon from behind as she presses her lips to Fallon’s cheek. At some point she’s going to have to change it, but for now she stares at it until it fades away into darkness again. </p>
<p>When she stands, the cold in the room seeps into her bones, and she tugs the sweatshirt closer. She pads to the kitchen, over to the big farmhouse sink and the big windows that look out across the living room and over the twinkling lights of the city. She’s not much of a cook herself, but Kirby had loved getting to watch all the little people pass by while she chopped vegetables or washed dishes. It had been half the reason she’d bought this place. Kirby’s eyes had lit up and Fallon’s brain had gone running off with hopes and dreams for a future that it took her less than two years to fuck up. </p>
<p>Setting the empty mug in the sink, she crosses the kitchen to settle into the hanging chair by the window. It squeaks as she sits and the rope rubs against her thighs. The chair had in truth belonged to Kirby more than it ever did Fallon, and Fallon’s not proud to admit she kept it mostly out of spite. Kirby didn’t ask and Fallon was too angry at her leaving to offer and maybe if you asked her in a moment of weakness she might tell you that she was hoping if she kept Kirby’s chair then she might get to keep Kirby.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em> Kirby’s seen just about every side of her girlfriend, but she’s pretty sure giggly is a word she would’ve never expected to use to describe Fallon. And yet that’s exactly what her girlfriend is tonight. Kirby is trying to use one hand to open the door to their apartment while simultaneously holding Fallon upright with the other, but really she’s just winding up failing on both counts. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Fallon leans into her, snuggling closer into her side. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hi,” she whispers, reaching a hand up. She taps Kirby’s nose. “Boop.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hey babe,” Kirby replies, grabbing hold of Fallon’s hand with the one not holding her girlfriend up. “Can you help me out?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mmm, what do you need?” Fallon isn’t one for terms of endearment, even when she’s drunk. Her lack of verbal affection has been a point of contention that Kirby is still working on letting go. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I need you to stand up for just a second, Fal.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Immediately, she’s righted herself and is stick-straight standing on her own. Fallon grins at Kirby, reaching out to ‘boop’ her nose again. Kirby’s so distracted by the look of eagerness and pride in Fallon’s eyes that she almost forgets that she needs to open the door until her girlfriend reaches out to jingle the keys in her hand. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Right,” she says, slipping her key into the deadbolt and pushing the door open. “We’re home, babe.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Home,” Fallon muses, latching herself back onto Kirby’s side. “I love home.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It is a rather nice one, isn’t it?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby isn’t altogether sober herself, and she lets Fallon guide her into the bedroom and topple them both onto the plush comforter before she moves to put a stop to it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Fallon, babe,” she says, ignoring the way Fallon’s hands are wandering and her hips are moving against hers. “We gotta go to bed.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “We’re in bed, Kirby,” Fallon says, brushing her fingers along the side of Kirby’s neck and kissing the spot below her ear. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby reaches for her, grabbing Fallon’s face and meeting her eyes. Fallon smiles softly, her eyes clouded and unfocused from the alcohol and exhaustion.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Okay.” Fallon settles her body on top of Kirby’s and presses a final soft kiss to her collarbone. “Goodnight. I love you,” she says drowsily. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby freezes. She’s said those words to Fallon before, but they have yet to be reciprocated. She feels hot tears prick at her eyes, but before she can work out what to even say to Fallon, Kirby can feel Fallon’s breathing even out as she snuggles deeper into Kirby. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She’s not sure if Fallon doesn’t remember or just doesn’t want to talk about it in the morning.  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Kirby is, without a doubt, going to hell. Or maybe she’s already there. The buzz of the alcohol is starting to fade and she’s slowly beginning to take note of the way her tongue sits heavy in her mouth and her heels stick to the floor of the bar. There’s a brunette someone or other attached to her neck and Kirby winces at the waxy lipstick she’s sure is flaking off onto her skin. Her skin crawls, and she scrambles, pressing her hands up against the other woman’s waist to push her away.</p>
<p>“Is everything okay?” the woman— Alice, maybe?— asks, her voice a cacophony of heavy consonants. Kirby shakes her head, her hair tumbling down from the messy bun atop her head as she pulls away from the girl.</p>
<p>“No, actually,” she says, rubbing at the sticky residue on her neck. Her cheeks are reddening and she can see Sam watching carefully from where he’s perched at the bar. Her heart rate picks up until it feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest and fall flat onto the smooth linoleum floor. She moves at the same time Sam does, slipping out from where she’d been pressed to the bar and winding herself between posts to reach the heavy iron door. She’s closer, and by the time Sam’s reached her she’s escaped to the street and is fumbling a cigarette between her fingers.</p>
<p>“Shit,” she says as it slips through her uncoordinated hands and falls into a puddle on the ground below her. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”</p>
<p>“I thought you stopped smoking,” Sam says. He slips his hands into his pockets, leaning against the dingy brick wall beside her. She’s silent as she thumbs another cigarette from the pack, successfully lighting it this time before taking a drag.</p>
<p>“I thought you stopped sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” she says, exhaling the smoke into the thick humid air. </p>
<p>“Ah yes, because you’ve always been so good at that yourself,” he replies, leveling her with a look. Kirby rolls her eyes, dropping the cigarette and crushing it underneath her foot. </p>
<p>“Happy now?”</p>
<p>“Not particularly.”</p>
<p>“Welcome to the club,” Kirby says.  “We’re all single and miserable and could use something a hell of a lot stronger than the cheap drinks that bar serves.”</p>
<p>“You could try therapy,” Sam suggests.</p>
<p>Kirby bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood.</p>
<hr/>
<p>This morning, Fallon had thought she’d heard Kirby singing in the shower before she remembered that half of her shelves are empty and she no longer has to pick hairy little red animals out of the drain every week. She hadn’t anticipated just how much she would miss the minutiae of their life together, and more than once she’s found herself greeting the air over coffee in the morning or listening for the sound of another body breathing beside her at night. </p>
<p>Tonight, Fallon closes her eyes and listens to the creaking of her chair and the hum of the city that drifts up from below. She thinks she’s been getting used to sitting with her own thoughts, but tonight it only takes a few minutes before she can feel goosebumps creeping up her arms and her chest tightening. </p>
<p>
  <em> She’s gone and she isn’t coming back. </em>
</p>
<p>Fallon practically jumps out of the chair, trying to shake free her thoughts as the chair swings behind her in the open air. She rubs her temples, willing away the nausea beginning to crop up in her chest.</p>
<p><em> You push away everyone that loves you </em>.</p>
<p>Fallon steps into the bathroom, ignoring the dark circles and tired eyes in the mirror and splashing water on her face. </p>
<p>“Get it together.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Unloveable. </em>
</p>
<p>Fallon sighs, stepping out of the bathroom and back into the living room. The chair is still swinging empty by the window. She can feel the pit in her chest growing deeper with each breath.</p>
<p><em> You’re alone. You’re always alone </em>. </p>
<p>She grabs her coat off the hooks by the door, slipping shaking arms into the sleeves. Maybe some fresh air will be good for her.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em> “I love you, babe,” Kirby says, leaning in for a lazy last kiss as Fallon scrambles to gather her documents and coffee on her way out the door. “You’re going to kill this presentation.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Thank you,” Fallon says, sidestepping the first part of Kirby’s farewell. “I’ll pick up some of that gelato you like from the place on Third on my way home.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Kirby’s only response is a tight-lipped smile as she wraps her robe tighter around her body. Fallon’s inability to say those three little words has been a point of contention in their relationship as of late. Kirby’s seemed so understanding every time they’ve talked about it, but she just </em> knows <em> that Kirby is starting to have doubts. It’s not that Fallon doesn’t love her. It’s cli </em> <em> ché beyond the pale, but she loves her so much it hurts sometimes, because she knows that loving Kirby is only going to bite her when Kirby finally realizes that she can do so much better than an emotionally stunted workaholic bitch who can’t even tell her she loves her without panicking about the future.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Love never works out for Fallon. She thinks it might be something in her genes. </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Sam finally finds her again, Kirby is scuffing her heels on the mulch of a playground. She’s seated on a faded yellow swing set, eyes closed with another cigarette hanging from her fingers.</p>
<p>“You know, I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against smoking on a children’s playground,” Sam says, sitting on the swing beside her. </p>
<p>Kirby doesn’t open her eyes, just holds it up to take another puff.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna give yourself cancer.” Sam tries again.</p>
<p>Kirby groans and opens her eyes. Looking straight at Sam, she finishes the cigarette off, tossing it to the ground under her shoe.</p>
<p>“Okay, seriously,” Sam says, turning his swing to face her. “What is <em> with </em> you? This isn’t you. You don’t make out with random people in bars or litter on playgrounds.”</p>
<p>“Says who?” Kirby asks, shuffling her feet beneath her. She runs her hands along the chains of the swing, feeling the cool metal between her fingers and trying to ground herself. Sam continues to stare at her, daring her to say more. </p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing hold of her swing and turning her to face him.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem fine,” he says. Kirby shifts where she sits.</p>
<p>“I’m managing,” she says, amending her words. Sam gives her a look, and red-hot anger flares from deep in her chest at the pity she can see reflected in his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam. That she didn’t talk to me? That I didn’t want to sit around and wait for her to talk herself out of loving me?”</p>
<p>“Did you tell her all of that?”</p>
<p>She stays quiet, swinging back and forth as the links of the chain holding her up protest the movement.</p>
<p>“Kirb—,” Sam starts.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your advice,” she snaps. “It’s over, it’s done, there’s nothing else left to do. I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say you did.” He holds his hands up. </p>
<p>“What am I supposed to do? <em> I </em> dumped <em> her</em>. I walked out. It’s over.”</p>
<p>She slumps over, furiously wiping at the corner of her eye to try to stop the hot tears from spilling over. </p>
<p>“It’s over.” </p>
<p>“Kirby, c’mon. That kind of love doesn’t just die. If you aren’t ready for it to be over, just go talk to her.”</p>
<p>“You think so?”</p>
<p>She wishes her voice didn’t sound so damn small.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em> When Fallon gets home, Kirby is sitting on their bed, turned away from the door. Her legs are tucked neatly under her, loose waves framing her face.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hey,” Fallon says, making her way around the bed towards her girlfriend. “How was your day?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She stops short when she sees the way Kirby looks at her. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Oh.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby bites her lip, standing and reaching towards Fallon. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Fallon, I </em>—”</p>
<p>
  <em> Fallon wraps her arms around herself, ignoring the numbness creeping up her legs into her chest. She sits on the end of the bed, looking at the floor, at the clock, anywhere but at her girlfriend.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It’s fine,” she says, kicking herself when she can hear the catch in her voice. “I’m fine. If you’re going to leave, just go.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Kirby bows her head, twisting her hands in one another. Her nose scrunches up.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m sorry.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She waits to hear the front door close before she falls apart. </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Fallon gets home, it’s two in the morning, her eyes are starting to feel heavy, and her head feels like it's underwater. She’s no closer to closure than earlier in the night. </p>
<p>When she rounds the corner, though, there’s a red head of hair leaning against her door. </p>
<p>Kirby scrambles to stand, her cheeks flushed and her breathing labored like she’s just run a marathon.</p>
<p>“I knocked but—” She gestures at the door she’d been sitting against. Fallon blinks at her, not altogether convinced she’s not dreaming. Kirby closes her eyes, and Fallon can see her take a deep breath and wring her hands together. When she opens her eyes again, there’s a warmth there that makes Fallon’s heart ache. Kirby lifts a hand in a wave. “Um. Hi.”</p>
<p>“Hi,” Fallon replies, trying to keep her voice even as her heart picks up speed. She can hear the pounding in her chest and in her ears, and she takes half a step forward. </p>
<p>Kirby ducks her head. A stray lock of hair falls into her face, and Fallon’s hand twitches. She wants to reach for it, to touch Kirby’s face and pull her back into her arms. Instead, though, Kirby tucks it behind her ear all on her own and tugs her lower lip into her mouth, gnawing on it in the way she does when she’s stressed. It feels like forever passes in the moments before she looks up. Brown eyes meet blue, and Fallon swears the world comes to a grinding halt when she sees the red ringing Kirby’s irises. </p>
<p>“Can we talk?”</p>
<p>Fallon hesitates for a moment at her words and takes in the person before her. Kirby’s hair is tied up in a haphazard bun, and more hair falls from it as Kirby reaches up a hand to try to smooth out the frizz. There’s smoke on her breath and on her clothes. </p>
<p>“This was a bad idea,” Kirby continues, rubbing at her neck and turning to walk away. “Sam said— But it’s fine, I shouldn’t have come here.”</p>
<p>“No, wait. Please.” Fallon winces internally at the desperation she’s sure Kirby picks up in her voice, but at least they’re on even ground now. She takes a deep steadying breath, trying to calm her heart beating in her chest. After all, Kirby could be here to take back that stupid macrame chair and leave for good. </p>
<p>Fallon twists the doorknob, reaching in to turn the light on. She pushes the door open the rest of the way.</p>
<p>“Let’s talk.”</p>
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